


listen back to your domestication

by hittingonallsixes



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Choking, F/F, Fisting, Hypnotism, Overstimulation, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hittingonallsixes/pseuds/hittingonallsixes
Summary: “Have you heard of operant conditioning chambers? You might also know it as a Skinner Box, named for the inventor, though the poor man didn’t care for the term nor for my suggestion that it involve more actual flaying.” You could hear the pout in her voice. “And aren’t you a lucky duck getting to keep your skin?”or: Missy teaches her companion about proper TARDIS maintenance
Relationships: Missy (Doctor Who)/Reader
Kudos: 28





	listen back to your domestication

Missy looked up from the complicated tangle of wires and circuit boards spread out between you on the table. Her expression hardened, voice betraying the first traces of annoyance. “No. Wrong.”

She wasn’t the only one getting frustrated. This was your third attempt at repairing a - well, you weren’t certain exactly what it was you were supposed to be piecing back together. It had some multi-syllable name she’d mentioned once and you hadn’t worked up the courage to ask her to repeat. All you knew was that it was vital to the proper upkeep and maintenance of the TARDIS and you couldn’t get it right. 

“It’s just not working,” you said, forlornly poking at it with your screwdriver. “I’m trying my best.”

“Oh, I know that, dear. Believe me, we would be having a very different conversation if I thought you were wasting my time on purpose.” She bared her teeth in what could have been a smile. 

Ultimately, this situation was all your fault. While Missy was content to have you - in her words - stand around and look pretty, you wanted to help out more with the day to day technical work. To be useful. And here you were, two hours into a lesson with nothing to show for it but some scrap electronics and the distinct impression you were burning through the last shreds of her patience.

“Despite the mounting evidence to the contrary, that simian brain of yours must be capable of some logical reasoning, so use it. Look here.” Missy gestured at an undifferentiated piece of electrical board. “This is a terminal. It’s the endpoint of a connection. What do you notice about it?”

You flushed with embarrassment. “It’s not connected?”

“So she can be taught. Will wonders never cease? And you forgot to keep the wires away from the outer shell. The set up you have would be perfectly reasonable if your goal was to blow the whole circuit and leave us stranded. Is that your goal, precious?”

“No, Missy,” you mumbled. 

She arched a brow. “Careful, now. If you don’t watch the attitude, Mummy will watch it for you.”

Immediately, you sat up straight and said, quick and clear, “No, it’s not, Mistress.” 

She held your gaze a moment longer, silently daring you to talk back, which you wisely did not. There were times she got as much enjoyment as you did out of baiting you into acting up, but you didn’t think this was one of them and weren’t about to gamble on her response being one you liked.

With you sufficiently cowed, Missy yanked the screwdriver from your unresisting grasp and rapped you smartly on the knuckles. You yelped, shaking your hand to ease the sting, and gave her a wounded look, which was ignored. She began to neatly disassemble the circuit into its component parts, pointing out the other errors you’d made in your attempted repair as she went. 

You tried to pay attention to the lesson, but your focus was mostly on her slender fingers and wine-red nails and not the electronics she was stripping down. Though your thoughts often wandered to her, when she was in her element - namely, intricate technical work and condescension - she was a vision and you were, as she so often reminded you, only human.

“Any questions,” she asked once she had finished. The corner of her mouth twitched and you couldn’t help but feel that your distraction had been noted. “Comments? Concerns? Well, that’s ever-so reassuring. Consider my expectations sky-high.”

Missy handed you the screwdriver but didn’t let go, instead using your grip on it to tug you closer. One of her fingers curled under your chin, nail scratching lightly, and your shiver had nothing to do with the chill of the server room.

“One more time.” She cocked her head to the side, eyeing you like a cornered mouse. “Do it right. Or else.”

“Or else,” you echoed, faintly. 

She chuckled. “Don’t sound so nervous, dearest. Go on, then. Make me proud.”

You could still feel the phantom scrape of her nail on your skin. If you asked, polite and deferential, Missy would set aside today’s lesson. She would let you curl up at her feet while she worked at the console, a hand occasionally dropping down to stroke your hair like you were every bit the spoiled pet. You didn’t have to try again, not really. 

But you wanted to make her proud. 

This latest attempt started off relatively smooth. You set the resistors and capacitors. Straightened the pins in their grooves. Kept the relays in alignment. Glanced up, noticed the slight furrow between her brows, and hastily undid some work so you could wire up the terminals first. She rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything. You dared hope that this time you might finally have gotten it right. 

It was only when you went to attach the outer casing that you noticed a problem. The anchor holes weren’t lining up correctly no matter how you flipped the pieces around, always offset just barely enough that you didn’t think you could force a screw through them, but not so much that you were certain it had gone wrong. 

Missy’s face was impassive, betraying none of her thoughts as you struggled. You wished she would snort or sigh, make a snide comment, do something to let you know whether or not you were on the right track. 

Vaguely, you thought you remembered the casing had neatly slotted together when she’d demonstrated for you, but most of your attention hadn’t exactly been on the repairs. You turned the little metal screw over and over in your fingers. Indecision would displease her as much as failure. Better to go with your best guess. 

If you put the screw in at an angle, it would just about fit and hopefully straighten out the casing as it was tightened. Tongue poking out the corner of your mouth in concentration, you wormed the screw into position, holding it in place with your thumb so you could fumble for the screwdriver. 

The first few turns were tight, but it looked as if the screw would thread into the anchor. Then, it stuck, resisting all your attempts to wiggle it loose. You paused, unsure what to do. Missy’s gaze was on you like a physical weight, her ice-pale eyes coldly assessing. 

Right or wrong, you were committed now. You stood up so you could put more of your weight behind the screwdriver and tried to muscle through. The screw rotated another quarter turn before there was a loud ting as it snapped in two, half of it ricocheting off the table to roll somewhere under one of the server banks. 

You stood there for a moment, mouth hanging open in surprise, then meekly sat back down. Jaw tight, Missy peeled off the top casing and you immediately saw the problem. You had forgotten to tuck all the wires away after you connected the terminals and one of them was caught in the seam where the two halves met. 

“Tell me, dear, how many times have you made that exact mistake,” she asked, poisonously sweet.

You swallowed. “Four times.”

“And how many times have I corrected you?”

“Four times, Missy.” Nervously, you clasped your hands together in your lap, not daring to look her in the eye.

“Four times, my goodness. So, why is it that you won’t learn?” The bite in the last word made you flinch. “What will it take to make the lesson stick? Even a labrat can be taught to pull the correct lever with proper conditioning and this is hardly more complicated.” She paused. “Well, that’s a thought.”

“I don’t understand,” you said, only more unsettled by the change in tone.

She stood and stalked behind you, her movements echoing the languid threat of an apex predator on the hunt. “Of course you don’t, poppet. Really, I can only blame myself. There are no poor students, only poor teachers.” One of her hands stroked across the span of your shoulders, the touch warm through your shirt. “Hmm, thirty-five centimeters. A tight fit, but you can be a squirmy little creature when you need to.”

You had more questions but they died on your lips when her hand wrapped around your throat. Not squeezing, not yet, just firm pressure to let you know that she could whenever she felt like it. 

“Out of idle curiosity, what were you thinking about during our lessons,” Missy asked, her grip tightening enough to make your next breath a wheeze. 

Instinctively, you started to reach for her wrist, but were able to stop yourself before you touched her. She wouldn’t take it well. “Getting it right. Pleasing you.”

“Be honest.”

“Nothing,” you choked out. “You.”

Her free hand tangled in your hair and forced you more firmly against the one at your throat. “Which is it? Nothing or me?”

You shook your head as best you could, caught in her grasp. There were no right answers and opening your mouth would only mean that much more rope to hang yourself. The lack of air was starting to make you woozy. 

“Don’t get sulky on me now, pet,” she said, pressing a line of kisses across your cheek until she got to your ear. Her tongue darted out, tracing the outer edge, and you could feel her breath on your skin when she spoke, her voice taking on a low, rhythmic cadence. “I am your Mistress and you will obey me.”

Your eyes went wide. You tried to fight, tried to steel yourself against her, but the words were already reverberating through your mind like ripples in a pond. 

“Obey me,” she murmured. “Stop struggling and obey.”

The warm haze of hypnotism settled over you, bleeding the tension from your frame so you might have slumped down if not for her hold on your throat. Each thought came to you slow and gentle, syrup-sweet and soft as velvet. 

“Yes, Mistress,” you said with a dreamy smile. 

Her hands loosened enough for you to draw a full breath. “There’s my good girl. Tell Mummy all about what was going through that pretty little head of yours.”

“I was thinking about you.” The words came easily. It was so much better to just obey her. You could have kissed her boots in gratitude, but she hadn’t given you permission to move. “Thinking about your fingers and your lips and how lovely you look when you’re pulling something apart.” 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, pet, though it won’t save you this time. Keep talking.”

You frowned, trying to remember more for her. “I wanted to make you proud.”

“Is that so?” She nipped your ear, teeth sharp on the delicate skin. “What would you get if I was proud of you? Did you think you’d be rewarded?”

Some part of your mind was sounding the alarm, but it was drowned out by the sweet haze of trance. “Yes, Mistress.”

“And how would I reward you, pet? An extra serving of cake? Give you a go at the particle accelerator?” 

“No, Mistress.”

“No? Well then,” she said, “you must have wanted to get fucked, hmm?”

It never even occurred to you to lie. “Yes, Mistress.” 

“Naughty, naughty. It’s a wonder you learned anything at all.”

In an instant, she dropped her control over your mind and slammed you down on the table, your forehead banging painfully against the surface. You yelped and clutched at the sore spot while she made a sympathetic noise, stroking the backs of her fingers down your cheek.

“Poor thing, here I was treating you like a person to be educated, not an animal to be domesticated and taught to perform a few tricks.” She tugged you to your feet. “No shame in it, dear. We all have different learning styles.”

You stumbled into her chest and her arms wrapped around you, holding you close. You couldn’t help but lean into the warm embrace. “I’m sorry. I really did try.”

She kissed the reddened mark on your forehead and the tip of your nose, curled her fingers under your chin to tilt your head back and kiss the corner of your mouth. “Hush, now. I’m not cross with you. We just need to be a bit more inventive with your education, don’t we?”

Inventive likely meant that you wouldn’t enjoy whatever she had planned, but that too had its own sharp-edged appeal. 

“Yes,” you said, “yes, please let’s do that.”

“See? You’re learning already.”

She took you by the upper arms and frogmarched you over to one of the massive silver and chrome control consoles. It didn’t look as if it was currently in use. None of the lights were glowing and its dials were stubbornly motionless, but you weren’t about to put much faith in your technical assessment capabilities. 

Kneeling down, Missy slid up the access panel on the side and reached in, her arm disappearing up to the shoulder in the guts of the machine. She rummaged around for a moment, then emerged with a handful of brightly colored wires clutched in her fist, which she passed to you.

You looked from the tangle to her and back again, your confusion only growing as she stepped aside, one hand still keeping the access panel up like she was some chivalrous gentlewoman holding the door for her lady.

“Get in.”

“I won’t -” You swallowed. “I won’t fit.”

“‘Course you will. Doesn’t need to be much, poppet. Just the head and upper torso should suffice to sort things out.”

You got down on your knees in front of the opening. True to her words, there seemed like there would be enough room to wriggle the top half of your body inside the machine. Maybe. Barely. Missy always did subscribe to the “if it doesn’t fit, force it” approach. 

Plaintively, you looked up at her. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“It’s not as if it’s a particularly difficult task,” she scoffed. “Match red to red, green to green, incredibly dangerous high voltage conductor to incredibly dangerous high voltage conductor. Even a human shouldn’t have any problems.”

Her expression was unyielding and you’d exhausted all your protests, so you set about worming your way in. Your shoulders proved to be the sticking point, but you found that if you put your arms in first like you were diving into a pool and pressed your biceps close by your ears, you could squeeze them past the entrance, though its metal edges caught and threatened to tear your shirt. 

Very little light from the outside made it past your body but a double row of emergency power strips lit the interior with a dim, blue glow. As your eyes adjusted to the gloom, you could make out the loose wires and empty ports Missy had left behind. 

To fit, you’d had to fold your arms to your chest like in prayer, putting all your weight on your knees and stomach where it rested on the edge of the opening. The metal lip bit into your skin, bearable for now, though you didn’t want to spend more time here than absolutely necessary. 

There was the sound of rustling fabric and you were pretty sure it came from Missy crouching down behind you, your inability to see her underscoring the vulnerability of your position. You were well and truly wedged in place. She could do anything to you and you would have a difficult time escaping it. 

“Have you heard of operant conditioning chambers? You might also know it as a Skinner Box, named for the inventor, though the poor man didn’t care for the term nor for my suggestion that it involve more actual flaying.” You could hear the pout in her voice. “And aren’t you a lucky duck getting to keep your skin?” 

She wouldn’t - you knew she would never - but still you shuddered. Your skirt had ridden up and the tights you wore beneath felt like no protection at all from what she might do.

“It’s quite a straightforward design. You have a box, a task, and a test subject. That’s you, dear.” She patted your side. “You also have a mechanism to provide stimuli. That’s me. When the subject behaves well, they’re rewarded.” Her fingers dipped under the hem of your skirt, stroking over your thighs. “When they’re naughty -” She raked her nails down, shredding the thin material of your tights and making you jerk and squirm as much as your confinement allowed. “- I’m sure you can guess.”

You’d nearly dropped the wires when she scratched you. Hurriedly, you tightened your grip, squeezing them till your knuckles popped. This test was already difficult enough without having to fish the pieces out of the tangle of cables and electronics at the base of the console. Failing again would be unwise. 

Missy bullied her way between your legs, spreading them wider and forcing more of your weight on your stomach. More efficient than sensual, she flipped your skirt up and dragged your tights and pants down to your knees, leaving you bare to the chill of the room. 

All your daydreaming before had left you slick and you groaned as she ran her fingers through it, painting wet swirls on the inside of your thighs. You arched your back as best you could, giving her more room to play and an invitation to escalate.

“I know what you want. I’m happy to give it to you,” she said, soft and sweet. “Again and again and again. Until you’re crying and begging me to stop. Until you learn. Is that a reward or a punishment, I wonder?”

Without warning, Missy slid two fingers inside you. The stretch was nothing you weren’t used to but surprise made you clench down anyway, turning the easy glide into a forceful push. She made a satisfied little sound as if she were the one being fucked. Her fingers scissored and curled, seemingly as much to luxuriate in the feeling as to please you.

“If I were you, I’d hurry up and start on the repairs. What is it they say about idle hands and the devil’s playthings?”

Her free hand stroked a long line up your thigh and she grabbed your arse, digging her nails into the soft flesh and squeezing so hard you thought for sure she’d make you bleed. You flinched and squirmed, desperately trying to keep your balance. 

“I’ll do it! I’ll start,” you gasped out and the pressure eased. Your cheek throbbed, promising that tomorrow the nail marks would bruise into purpled crescents. 

“Proof of concept, that. Stimuli, action, reward. We’ll have some proper behavioral conditioning in no time.” 

She withdrew until only her fingertips rested inside you, then thrust in deep, putting her weight behind it so that her knuckles pounded against your entrance. The rhythm she set was unforgiving, quick and deep. Each stroke sent a shock of heat ricocheting through you, even as some of the more punishing ones made you wince. 

Awkwardly, you braced a hand on the bottom of the console, the raised circuitry digging into the meat of your palm. You pushed yourself up a little to take a better look at the wires and ports. Despite what she said earlier, even matching up colors seemed borderline impossible in the cramped, dimly-lit space.

You grabbed one with what you thought was a red plastic casing and had almost gotten it seated when Missy abruptly added another finger. You nearly ripped the wire out of its housing, muscles contracting first with surprise and then with pleasure as the burning stretch settled into something sweeter.

Your second attempt was more successful and you were able to get another two connected to what you hoped were the correct ports. Next was a rat’s nest tangle of wires, all of which looked to be a dark blue or grey. 

“These ones are all the same color.” Your voice was strained and several octaves higher than usual. 

“Use those logical reasoning skills, poppet.” Missy crooked her fingers, stroking some exquisitely sensitive place deep inside. 

You were already balanced on the razor’s edge of climax. It was impossible to think through the desperate ache of it, but you tried. 

“The plugs are different,” you guessed, seeing that some of them had differing numbers of prongs or were oddly shaped.

“Give the girl a prize,” Missy said, chuckling. Her thumb settled on your clit, rubbing firm and steady as her fingers curled. Your vision whited-out for a moment and you shuddered with the force of your orgasm, biting your lip to stop from screaming. 

While you were still shaking with the aftermath, she wrapped an arm around you and hoisted you hips higher. Your sore knees protested the change in position, though that discomfort was quickly drowned out by the feeling of her fourth finger poised just outside your entrance. You were wet enough for it, the evidence of that was dripping down your thighs, but the thought of taking even more so soon after you’d come made you shy away.

“None of that, now. Don’t be petulant.” She adjusted her grip to hold you more securely. “You said it yourself, this is exactly what you wanted from the start. Aren’t you thrilled to have a mistress to spoil you rotten?”

You groaned as she pushed her way in, your climax having left you raw and oversensitive. There was so much of her inside of you. Each shiver, each inhale, every little shift to maintain your balance made you painfully aware of it. She flexed her fingers, stretching you wider around the breadth of her knuckles, and giggled at your answering whine. 

“I love those adorable noises of yours. Makes me want to break something important just to hear you scream, but I suppose you haven’t been that vexing today. Pity.”

Merciless, she pumped her fingers in and out, driving you into a second orgasm before you’d even recovered from the first. You shrieked and twisted in a vain attempt to get away. The loose wires fell from your grasp and scattered to the floor as your hands clawed at the inside of the console. 

Missy patted your flank like you were a racehorse she’d whipped over the finish line. She slipped her free hand under your shirt, fingertips tracing nonsense patterns over the twitching muscles of your stomach while you trembled with aftershocks.

“Shh, you’re alright, darling,” she said, soothingly. To your horror, you felt her tuck her thumb to her palm, threatening to shove it in alongside her other fingers. “And if you want to stay that way, best get a move on.”

“No, I can’t! Missy, not like this, please,” you begged. You’d taken her fist before and you both enjoyed those experiences immensely, but those times the angles had been better and there had always been enough lube to slick her hand all the way to the wrist. Trying now would be unthinkable. 

“Tick tock, tick tock.” 

Desperately, you scrabbled for the wires you dropped earlier and started jamming the plugs into any open ports until you found one that fit. The air inside the console had grown thick and cloying. Beads of sweat dripped down your face, falling in heavy drops to the delicate electronics below.

You jolted when Missy’s fingertips brushed over your clit, inadvertently forcing yourself back against her thumb for one frightening second. She set up a lazy rhythm, like she couldn’t care less about getting you off but instead wanted to take her time and enjoy the moment. It was good, so good that you couldn’t stop the helpless little rocking motions of your hips, an invitation for her to go faster, give you more, that she ignored. 

Bit by bit the pleasure built and this climax caught you by surprise, slower than the others but no less devastating. Sweat and tears stung your eyes, your breath came in uneven gulps, and your muscles quivered with tension as you held dreadfully still so as not to impale yourself any further on her fingers.

“I’m almost finished,” you said once you’d recovered enough to speak. “I’m close.”

“Only counts for horseshoes, hand grenades, and the occasional orbital death laser, I’m afraid. Don’t fret, I’ll kiss it better when I’m done.”

“You said you wouldn’t - wouldn’t break me.”

“That might have been the teensiest little fib.” Her hand thrust a fraction of a centimeter deeper inside you. “It’s not my fault you’re so much fun when you cry.”

You grit your teeth and spread your legs as best you could with your tights tangled around your knees. Your surrender had always been inevitable. There was nothing for it but to make things easier on yourself. 

Though present, your fear was tempered by the knowledge Missy would never truly harm you and a sharp thrill of pleasure at her putting on the facade that she might. You both loved the struggle, after all. You just happened to enjoy losing it even more.

She put a bit more pressure behind her hand, then she stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She slid all the way out of you and you heard the click of a bottle opening. When she pushed back inside, her fingers were so slick they were nearly frictionless, the excess lube smearing across your folds. “You humans are so delicate. Speak up next time, hmm?”

Any relief you might have felt was lost as she started to work you open, twisting her hand and grinding her knuckles against your entrance. Slowly, tortuously, you yielded to her. The stretch burned and the overtired muscles of your cunt quivered around her, protesting this latest violation. You would feel this for days, she’d make sure of it. You could picture her sharp smile at your halting, ginger steps walking back to your room. 

Missy paused, the widest part of her hand resting just outside your body. “Beg me.”

“Mistress?”

“Lovely girl, you know what I want.”

She wanted you to beg for more. Beg to be hurt and made to like it anyway. Beg to be forced back and forth across the knife-edge between pleasure and pain until you couldn’t tell one from the other.

She hardly had to ask.

“Mistress, please, I need you inside of me.” You sniffled, unable to remember when you started crying. “Split me open. Ruin me. Make me yours.”

Missy laughed. “Oh honestly, pet, you’ve always been mine. Ruin you, though? That I think we can do something about.”

With a final push, the rest of her hand slid inside you. You let out a broken gasp, no room left in you even to scream. The fullness was indescribable, beyond anything you could categorize as pleasure or pain. It burned and ached and you felt stretched to the breaking point, but you could have wept in gratitude from how excruciatingly good it felt. How complete.

Her hand curled into a fist, careful to keep her nails away from your tender inner walls. You wailed, cries increasing in pitch as she started to thrust, tiny rocking motions of her wrist that left you feeling on the verge of flying apart at the seams.

“Good girl, good girl,” Missy praised. She sounded breathless. Entranced. “You always feel so tight. So wet. I could do this to you everyday and it’d never be enough.” She traced a finger around where her wrist disappeared into your body, her touch reverent. 

Pressure built inside of you, frightening in its intensity, as she continued to move, inexorably working you higher and higher. You panted for air, your feet drummed on the ground, your hips rocked back to meet each thrust in helpless little spasms. Sweat and tears were in your eyes and dripping into your open mouth, the taste of copper and salt on your tongue.

When you came, this time it was with a silent scream, your lips stretched wide and teeth bared in the private gloom of the machine. Your body clenched down on her hand where it split you open, nerves caught in a feedback loop as each shock of pleasure made you squeeze tight, which only set off another reaction, leaving you a victim of your own agonized ecstasy. All control had been stripped from you. There was nothing you could do but let the waves of sensation drag you under. 

You were left limp and fucked out, body hanging over the lip of the access hatch like a rag left out to dry as the metal bit deep into your stomach. Carefully, Missy straightened her hand and you whimpered when her knuckles stretched your tortured entrance on the way out. After having been opened so much, her absence was wound deep inside you.

“My dearest girl, you take it so well,” she said, voice heavy with affection.

“Thank you, Mistress.” The words came out slurred. “I love you, Mistress.”

She stroked a hand along your side, a silent response to your statement that filled your chest with warmth. “One last one, then. I did promise to kiss it better.”

It wasn’t a question but you still nodded, mumbling your agreement once you remembered that she couldn’t actually see it. You let her haul your lower hips up and put her mouth on your abused flesh, working patiently until she drew a final weak climax from your sobbing, wrung out body. 

Dazed and aching in the aftermath, you raised a trembling arm and connected the last wire to its port. “Did it.”

“Is that so?”

Gently, gently she guided you out of the console, helping you tuck your arms and wriggle your shoulders past the opening, one hand protectively cupping the back of your head so you wouldn’t knock it on the metal. 

After so long in the darkness, the server room lights dazzled you, forcing you to blink rapidly to clear the dark spots from your vision. Where your shirt rode up, you saw the livid red line that the lip of the opening had scored across your stomach and you could feel the bruises forming on your knees. 

Missy’s lipstick was smeared between your legs and you looked up to see the rest of it forming a bloody halo around her mouth, like she was a beast fresh from the hunt. She grinned wider, running the tip of her tongue over her teeth and chuckling when you shivered. You sprawled bonelessly in her arms as she peered around you into the depths of the machine. 

“Not bad for a first attempt. There’s a few improper connections but you can correct them next time.”

“Next time?”

“Of course.” She cupped your cheek and drew you into a short, chaste kiss. “After all, the key to behavioral conditioning is repetition.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was "what are you doing, step time lady?" in my drafts
> 
> title from "Good Little Dictation Machines" from The Devil's Carnival, and the Missy characterization was shamelessly lifted from @isis-astarte-diana on here and tumblr


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